


Unintentional Innuendo

by Bitter_Baristas



Series: Spideypool Oneshots [1]
Category: Deadpool - All Media Types, Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man - All Media Types, Spider-Man: Homecoming (2017)
Genre: Anal Sex, Best Friends, Bottom Peter Parker, Falling In Love, Fluff and Smut, Friends to Lovers, M/M, Male Slash, Top Wade Wilson, almost underage
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-18
Updated: 2018-02-18
Packaged: 2019-03-20 12:50:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,206
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13718055
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bitter_Baristas/pseuds/Bitter_Baristas
Summary: The first time they meet, Peter is seventeen.He’s also enamored.Peter is falling for Deadpool, hard, which is bad for a number for reasons, but mainly because in the eyes of the law he's a minor.





	Unintentional Innuendo

The first time they meet, Peter is seventeen.

He’s also enamored.

He’s heard of the Merc with a Mouth (of course he has) and what he’s heard couldn’t possibly prepare him for the real thing. First, his spider senses, which alert him to the cosmic shift of a mere door opening in his vicinity, do nothing to warn him of the psychopath sneaking up behind him.

Secondly, the snippets of information he’s heard hadn’t mentioned that the mercenary was _stunning_.

Peter had all of one romantic relationship to speak of--a girl from his AP biology class--and while things ended amicably their obligatory prom night coupling was nothing special. She had been cute, smooth skin and long legs, but his fumbling was from nerves rather than anticipation.

One look at the infamous Deadpool makes his mouth go dry and his certainty about his sexuality evaporates. Something curls in his gut and are his knees suddenly weak?

The man is built, his skin tight suit leaving little to Peter’s suddenly active imagination. He is a teenager, hormonal by design, but he is also Spider-Man. Spider-Man is good-natured and quick-witted, not a horny teenager who rubs one out into a tissue in the confines of his bedroom.

Spider-Man has self-control. Peter, however, is aghast to be visually violating the assassin standing a few yards away from him. The man’s posture screams of confidence that definitely crosses the line into arrogance and Peter’s still-growing mind finds it incredibly sexy.

The spell is shattered when the imposing figure speaks, gleefully calling Peter by a nickname that makes heat rise to his cheeks.

“Spidey-Boy!”

Peter automatically takes a defensive stance, eyes narrowing. The other makes no move to attack him. “Hi,” his masked head tilts to one side and Peter has the suspicion the other man is grinning. “Deadpool. Big fan. We should hook-up.”

Peter balks, grateful his mask hides his flaming cheeks. But there’s nothing his suit can do to conceal his downwards swirling blood and he frantically fills his mind with thoughts that dampen his arousal.

Any snarky reply is lost to a blurted, “I do not ‘hook-up’,” complete with air quotes.

Deadpool drops to one knee, one hand on his chest and the other reaching out towards Peter. “My sun, my reason, my Juliet. Mary me. I wanna have your spider babies.” His voice lilts, the pitch high but not unpleasant.

The unique quality of Deadpool’s voice briefly distracts Peter from the other’s actual statement.

When the words register he takes a step back, no longer worried about showing weakness.

“You don’t even know me!” He squawks.

Deadpool, who had been babbling nonsensically to himself snaps his attention back to Peter. “I’d love to change that, baby boy.” His voice drops and the unintentional innuendo makes a shiver travel down Peter’s spine and into his curling toes.

Peter mentally repetes a mantra of turn-offs: dead puppies, food encrusted in the corners of peoples mouths, coffee breath. It takes a few moments for his heart rate to lower, and when it does he forces himself to be Spider-Man instead of Peter Parker.

“Get up.” He says, harsher than he intends and at the same time not harsh enough. Deadpool eagerly leaps to his feet.

“So what do you say, baby boy? I’m thinking a summer reception, outdoors, with a chocolate fountain.”

Peter rolls his eyes, and can’t help the smile that tugs at his lips. “Did you hear about the two spiders who got engaged?” He delivers the punchline before Deadpool can respond. “They met on the web.”

Deadpool laughs, a deep, rich sound that Peter wants to record and play on a loop. Was that creepy? He’d have to ask MJ if that was a normal impulse.

He spins on his heels and walks to the ledge of the rooftop Deadpool had found him on. He tosses a glance back at the man. “You coming?”

Deadpool comically staggers and stares at him, unnervingly silent for a man whose title is ‘Merc with a Mouth’.

Peter smirks, “try to keep up.”

Deadpool does.

And just like that, with no other words or negotiations, they’re partners in stopping crime.

* * *

Peter finds Deadpool likes the sound of his own voice. The fact he likes it too is something he keeps to himself. The taller man jabbers constantly about past missions, going into gory detail about how he’s ‘unalived’ his targets. It is a slap to the face, a reminder that this manic, handsome, fun guy he’s crushing on is a _murderer_.

“If you’re going to attach yourself to my hip they’ll be no murdering.” He says firmly, and Deadpool slides out of his personal space with a pout.

“That’s no fun. And no fair, that’s my bread and butter.” He whines petulantly, and Peter wonders what he’s gotten himself into.

“I guess you don’t want to have my babies.” He says with mock disappointment.

He’s joking. He thinks he’s joking.

Deadpool is a dangerous criminal, he knows that. But in the night he’s spent with him Peter can tell Deadpool isn’t a _bad_ person. Misguided and reckless, lacking of any appreciation for human life, but not intrinsically bad.

Thinking that makes Peter question his own sanity, his own goodness. Whether Deadpool is good or bad at heart was irrelevant when he’s murdering people. Peter is smart enough to know he’s in over his head. Deadpool may be certifiably insane, but he knew the difference between right and wrong, he just didn’t care.

That was all the more condemnable.

Spider-Man shouldn’t be allowing this partnership to form and Peter shouldn’t be laughing at all of Deadpool’s anecdotes. Yet he’s unable to stop it. Something about Deadpool is irresistible.

And that’s the problem.

“Fffiiiinnnnneeeee. I won’t kill any baddies around my goodie-two-shoes Spidey.”

Peter’s shock is revealed only in his widened eyes. He doesn’t expect Deadpool to relent to his will, at least not this easily. He catches the qualifier, of course. _Around_ him, which means Deadpool has no qualms killing behind his back.

But it’s a start. And with it, Peter thinks there are a million possibilities to be had.

“Great.” Deadpool infamously loved Mexican food, and Peter unabashedly uses that knowledge. “It’s getting,” he pretends to look at a wrist watch, “early. I, uh, I know a convenience store with good tacos. Do you want--”

Inhumanly fast, Deadpool is holding his hand and squealing like a schoolgirl. “Yes! Take me, I’m yours.” He jumps, Peter’s reflexes insuring he catches the man bridal style. The back of Deadpool’s hand presses dramatically to his forehead. “But be gentle, I’m fragile.”

Peter unceremoniously drops him.

They are on another roof, and he’s about to offer to lower Deadpool to the ground when the man casually walks off the skyscraper as though air hasn’t suddenly replaced solid brick.

Only thanks to his superhuman speed and strength does Peter shoot a web to catch Deadpool’s falling form.

“Are you crazy!?”

“Yup!” Deadpool replies cheerfully.

Peter lands with practiced ease and fixes a glare on the other.

“You could have crushed someone!”

“No one walking around at three am is up to any good.” Deadpool says flippantly.

Peter runs a hand down his face, frustration grabbing hold of him. Whatever he’s letting happen, it’s wrong. Not just because Peter is underaged and lusting after an _assassin_ , but because he is Spider-Man. Spider-Man is a public figure, he has to keep up appearances to stay in the cities good graces. Tony entrusted him with this responsibility and throwing it all away for some guy he doesn’t know is astronomically stupid.

What he’s heard in passing from the Avengers who crossed his path insinuates that Deadpool is an insane and infuriating menace. He has a track record for being unpredictable, for teetering the line between hero and villain. What has he done to give Peter any reason to think this was anything else but a stint as the ‘good guy’?

He analyzes Deadpool’s part in their interactions and something emerges from the oblivion of his mind. There had been a string of murders in the city, and being the nosy kid he is he ran background checks on all the victims, hoping to find a pattern. As it turned out, there was one. All the victims were scum, child predators, rapists, lowlife thugs along with a handful of mobsters.

“You’re the one they’re talking about on the news!” He shouts, pointing an accusatory finger at Deadpool.

The man shifts and meekly says, “I’m trying to clean up my act.”

Spider-Man rears his righteous head. “Clean up your act?!” He booms, stalking forward in a way that must surprise Deadpool because the man backpedals until he hits a wall.

“They were criminals, Spidey!”

Peter’s hand slams into the space beside Deadpool’s head so hard it cracks the brick wall. “Is this your idea of heroism,” he hisses, crowding the man.

If not for his enhanced hearing he’d have missed the mumbled, “kind of.”

He should web Deadpool to the building and leave him there. He should call Mr. Stark and ask for help. He does neither of those things.

“Why?”

Deadpool, who had looked away, turns to meet his narrowed gaze.

“Why what?”

“Why do you want to ‘clean up your act’? Do you just want people to think of you as a hero, to admire you? Or do you really want to be a better person?”

“The second one.” Deadpool says, softly, eye contact not faltering. Peter believes him. Spider-Man doesn’t accept the answer at face value but is willing to let the other prove himself. He steps out of Deadpool’s personal space, tenseness not leaving him.

“No killing. At all. Deal breaker. Get rubber bullets or something. We let the law deal with the criminals.” He surveys Deadpool critically. “We don’t stoop to their level... And for the love of God, I don’t want to see you splat.”

Gloved hands cover Deadpool’s cheeks and he gasps. “Awe, you really do care!”

Peter doesn’t refute that, although his jaw sets and his neck feels strained. He starts walking and doesn’t need to look back to know Deadpool is following him like a puppy.

* * *

Every night he goes out to patrol, Deadpool joins him. Spider-Man’s facade becomes easier to keep because Deadpool genuinely seems to be trying. He hasn’t killed anyone, and he proves to be a competent partner. There are no more murders on the news and with Deadpool’s help they’ve stopped one attempted rape, three muggings, and nine drug deals.

Slowly, the streets of New York are becoming safer.

Deadpool also proves to be a great friend.

It’s only the fifth night he’s met the man and Peter is hopelessly hooked. Deadpool has a way of making him laugh until his sides hurt, and another thought occurs to him.

Deadpool was dangerous, had done awful things for fun. It was reminiscent of a child acting out for attention. He thinks this and knows in a moment that he’s right. Deadpool has gone through something terrible in his life, that he could surmise from everything that spewed from the mans mouth. He’d been hurt and had done what he’d needed to do in order to protect himself. All this time, maybe The Merc with a Mouth was just reaching out in hopes that someone would take his hand.

And Peter is the first person to give him a chance. To acknowledge that redemption is possible.

He has this realization and keeps it to himself. All he needs to do his keep doing what he’s been doing. Deadpool needs a role model, and Spider-Man was as good as anyone else. He needs a friend, too, and Peter is more than happy to oblige.

Rituals begin cropping up in his life with Deadpool around. Taco Tuesday is one of those rituals. Deadpool introduces the idea first, and Peter continues the tradition the following week. They end up in Deadpool’s disaster of an apartment, playing Mario Kart and eating Mexican food. An alliance between hero and… chaotic neutral quickly turns into something Peter tries to write off as only friendship.

For God’s sake, Aunt May thinks he’s at Ned’s house playing with legos and watching Star Trek.

He rationalizes. He hasn’t done anything morally wrong with Deadpool, aside from the others not unwanted groping, things have stayed PG. He just needs to keep it that way for a few more months. A few more painful months.

At least then the intimacy he craves will be legal, if not frowned upon.

“Boom goes the dynamite!” Deadpool thunders beside him, couch jostling as he jumps up to do a victory dance. “I wrecked you, Spidey!”

Peter blinks and sees that Deadpool has just won the final race, putting him in first place. The man’s mask is pulled up over his nose so he can eat, and his grin is breathtaking. His teeth are a shock of white against his discolored skin that startled Peter when he first saw it.

The only thing about Deadpool’s skin that bothers him now is that he can’t touch it.

“Don’t look so down, baby boy.” Deadpool says, the whites of his masks eyes crinkling. Peter turns his head quickly, although he knows his conflicted feelings are portrayed only through body language.

He stands, arms stretching over his head in a way he hopes looks unburdened.

“It’s getting late, I gotta go.”

“What, you got a day job or something?” Was that disappointment in Deadpool’s voice?

“Or something. Don’t worry, though. I’ll beat you up at Mortal Kombat next time we hang.”

Deadpool laughs through his nose. “You wish, nerd.”

“Anytime, anywhere, I’ll stomp you.” Peter shoots back without malice.

“I’ll bring the Raid.”

Don’t say it. Don’t. Say. It. “And I was sure you’d go for the fly swatter.”

“I’ll bring whatever you want, baby boy.” Deadpool purrs, one long step bringing him close to where Peter stands.

What the hell is wrong with him? Why is he egging him on? May raised him better than that.

“I really like you!” He admits in a jumbled rush of words. Because he is apparently a complete idiot. An idiot who happens to have fallen for a man who is surely twice his age.

Before Deadpool can react he goes on, desperately trying to save himself. “You’re, like, my best friend, dude. Dude-bro. Man.” He chuckles, a high, nervous sound, and wishes the ground would open up to swallow him.

Deadpool leans in, the space between them scant inches, and for a terrifying moment Peter thinks the older man is going to kiss him. A finger flicks his nose teasingly.

“Itsy bitsy spider, I’m your _bestest_ friend.”

His heart pounds loudly in his chest.

“Yeah you are.”

* * *

Deadpool does kiss him, one month and two weeks before the day that will make Peter a legal adult. They’re relaxing in a street lamp lit park, lounging on a gently sloping hill. They’ve just finished a night of patrolling and are watching the star and helicopter speckled sky, eating chimichangas. Their masks reveal their mouths and Deadpool moves so fast Peter can’t comprehend what’s happening.

A tongue that tastes faintly of sour cream is in his mouth, chapped lips moving against his own.

He kisses back with vigor. He lurches forward into Deadpool’s lap and devours the others mouth. Broad, warm hands settle on his hips and Peter unconsciously rocks into Deadpool’s abs.

A moan slips out of his mouth and he’s losing himself. Deadpool feels so good. It kills him to wrench away. Panting, he stares at the pleased man beneath him. Then Peter literally leaps five feet into the air, unsteady on his feet as he backs away.

“Deadpool I--”

“I’ll take good care of you, baby boy.” Deadpool--Wade--growls. “I’ll make you feel so good.”

Tears dampen Peter’s mask.

“I want to, I really do. But I…”

“It’s my skin, isn’t it?”

“What? No!”

Deadpool doesn’t seem to hear him. “I know I’m a monster, I just thought, fuck shit titty monsters, I shouldn’t have kissed you. Stupid!” He smacks his head, arguing with the voices Peter can’t hear.

The knowledge that Deadpool thinks Peter would reject him because of his skin makes the teenagers heart plummet. He moves purposefully, pressing himself flush against the other and kissing him deeply. He pulls away quickly.

“I want you Wade, but please, please listen to me when I say I just need you to hold out a little while longer. Can you do that? Can you wait for me to be ready?”

Deadpool studies him mutely and finally nods.

Peter sighs, relieved. The tension his body holds goes lax and Deadpool wraps his strong arms around him as he sags.

“I’ll wait for as long as you need, baby boy.” He whispers.

That night, beneath his covers, Peter whines Wade’s name as he touches himself.

* * *

Peter hopes that things will return to normal between them, but the next night he goes out Deadpool doesn’t show up. Guilt gnaws at Peter. Had he hurt Deadpool’s feelings, were they no longer friends? Did Deadpool hate him?

He wants to visit the man's apartment but everytime he goes near Deadpool’s neighborhood his legs turn to jelly. If Deadpool wants to see him he’ll come out to meet him as he’d done every other night.

Peter reluctantly decides to give the other man his space. After all, he was perfectly capable of stopping crime himself.

Eight days pass and Deadpool is still a no show. Disappointment swells in Peter and he sighs. He didn’t need the other man, but Deadpool made the time fly. Just when he thinks it looks like another boring night he hears and feels an explosion rock the city.

Following the direction of the explosion takes him out of the thicket of the city. Trepidation pangs him when he has to start moving on foot, the safety and mobility of New York's skyscrapers left behind him. Peter steels himself. A hero had to be able to fight anywhere, even out of their element.

The area he’s in looks like a suburb that had been suddenly abandoned and left to decay, scorch marks blackening the remaining structures. Most of the buildings were left in ruins, meaning the layout offered little protection and few swinging options.

Whoever is setting off explosives, it seems they’d been at it for a while.

His suit picks up the raucous voices of five men who aren’t concerned with volume. Although Peter figured that out when they set off the explosion. Their conversation reveals they are gangsters who have just blown up a rival gangs hideout.

Peter acts quickly, any reservations for stealth abandoned when he realizes there might be people who were hurt.

That proves to be a mistake on his part. The thugs have souped up weapons similar to the ones Vulture had been making, and they know how to use them. Peter manages to web two before he’s hit with a blast that sends him flying.

He skids on the ground, finally slamming into it disorientated. Groaning, he props himself up on his elbows. His head is spinning and he doesn’t see the man taking aim at him.

The device shoots a crackling ball of energy that hits him point blank. His healing factor is good, but Peter doesn’t know if it can save him now. Darkness is crawling over him and his body relaxes into it.

Another blast does not come.

Peter drags his eyelids up, a blur of red streaking across his vision. Deadpool.

The man turns to him. Had he said that aloud? He doesn’t have time to ask because Deadpool is scooping him up and carrying him somewhere. The man is talking, Peter realizes. Straining to focus on Deadpool’s voice instead of the pain he feels he picks out choked apologies.

“Baby boy, I’m so sorry I should have been here. Odin please let him be okay.”

“Mmm fine.” Peter slurs. “Text… May. Tell her I’m sleeping at… Ned’s. She’s… gonna freakin flip.” He slips into unconsciousness in Deadpool’s arms.

* * *

The world emerges in lightening shades of grey. Peter breathes raggedly through his mouth, hissing when he tries to move. His eyes squeeze shut and he grasps for the events that brought him here, wherever here was.

He apprehended some gangsters with seriously lethal weapons and… Deadpool had saved him. Peter sits up, heart slamming against his ribcage. He takes quick stock of his body, which is sore but not badly damaged.

How long had he been out? Where was Deadpool?

A glance out the window tells him that it’s early morning and his stomach drops. May. His hand slaps at the pouch sewn into his suit. No phone. Panic buzzes on his skin and he jumps off Deadpool’s bed only to fall with a thud. Grumbling, Peter staggers to his feet, leaning on the wall for support.

“Baby boy?” A sleepy voice calls from the living room. Peter desperately tries to stand up straight, a startled yelp leaving him when hands grab him by his armpits. He’s gently set on the bed, staring in awe at the man who had been completely silent in his walk to the bedroom. A feat, considering the sea of soda cans Peter knew carpeted the floor.

“I have to go, my aunt is going to be so worried.” He hurriedly explains, moving to get up and stopped by Deadpool’s heavy hands on his shoulders.

“I texted your aunt,” Deadpool assures. “See for yourself.” His head jerks to the nightstand, where Peter’s phone rests.

Peter looks, and sees that May simply told him to have fun and that she loved him. The panic he feels abates and he inhales deeply.

“Thank you,” he says. “For saving me. And texting my aunt. She is a class A worry wart.”

Deadpool nods. “I don’t think I can blame her, you had me pretty worried too.”

Peter winces. “Sorry.”

“I guess I can’t leave you to your own devices.” Deadpool says, shrugging. Peter blinks, then smiles.

“Team Spideypool is back?” He asks, hope tingeing his words.

“Spideypool?” Deadpool parrots, and Peter flushes beneath his mask. “You ship us! That’s adorable.”

“Ship?” Peter says dumbly.

Deadpool waves his hand dismissively, “don’t worry about it, baby boy.”

* * *

Graduation passes in a blur and his birthday is just around the bend. Weeks trickle by, bringing his birthday month. To May’s delight, Tony throws him a grandiose party with some of the other Avengers in attendance. Steve gives him a speech about being a man and Tony offers to fly him out to Germany so they can get drunk together. When Steve fixes him with a withering glare Tony insists he’s kidding.

The entire time he’s itching to visit a trashed apartment.

The day after his birthday he calls Wade and asks if he wants to skip patrol this once in favor of just hanging out. The answer he receives is a resounding yes. As he’s done multiple times before he crawls into the man's unlocked window. He’s a bundle of nerves, excitement and anticipation having been building within him since he first met the man.

Deadpool is sprawled on his stained, ripped couch when he enters. The man perks up.

“Baby boy, what’s the occasion?”

Peter’s legs are warm and limp beneath him. He sucks in a lungful of air, fingers twitching to reach for the neck of his mask.

“Will you be my boyfriend?”

It only takes Deadpool a moment to answer, but it feels like an eternity.

“Baby boy nothing would make me happier! I knew you couldn’t resist me forever.” Despite his full body suit, Deadpool’s joy is clear.

Peter laughs shakily. “You’re right. Not forever, just until my birthday.”

“Your birthday?” Deadpool asks, confused.

Peter pulls his mask off fully, feeling his unruly hair stick out at odd angles. “My names Peter. Peter Parker.” Wade, oh how he’s waited to call him that, scrutinizes him.

“You’re… a teenager.” He says slowly, realization dawning on him.

“Eighteen.” Peter confirms. He looks at his feet, toes at the garbage covered floor. Will Wade be angry with him, reject him? “You’re really right,” he says softly. “I wanted you, when you kissed me. I really did, Wade. But I couldn’t… do that to you. I’m sorry.”

He’s not about to cry. The pressure building behind his eyes is assuredly not tears.

“To me?” Wade asks incredulously, straightening. “Fucking hell I’ve been hitting on a seventeen year old, I’ve grabbed your ass so many times.” He wails this, and then looks at Peter sharply. “Are you in high school?”

Peter quickly shakes his head. “No, I’m graduated.”

“Thank fucking God.” Wade groans, flopping heavily against the couch. “I’m a goddamn pervert.”

Peter wants to sit beside him, comfort him, but he’s rooted to the spot. Tears are tracing the curve of his cheeks now.

“Do you want me to leave?” The question comes out as a whimper. Deadpool stands, now sounding guilt ridden.

“Oh baby boy you didn’t do anything wrong. Come here.” He pulls Peter into a hug, a hand running along the boys shuddering shoulders. Peter’s arms fling around his middle immediately, any reservations about decency discarded.

“Wade,” Peter’s trembling voice makes Deadpool feel worse, because he’s the one who's done this to the youth. “I think I love you.” Peter pulls away to meet the others eyes. “Actually, I know I love you. If… if you still want to be my boyfriend it would make me the luckiest guy in America.

Wade grins in spite of himself. “What asshole in Canada is getting luckier than landing a stud like me?”

Peter smiles tentatively, and Wade sees past the youth to the beauty. His best friend, the guy who’s been making him happier than he’s been in years, is bewitching. Chestnut waves of hair, fine features and amber brown eyes misty with emotion. Peter is perfection.

Too good for a man like him.

“I’m clingy,” he warns. “Like, I need affection twenty-three hours of the day. And I have terrible farts. And I snore.”

Peter laughs. “I knew all of that, besides the snoring thing. And I’m not moving in, at least not for a while. Maybe we can give that a few years.”

Wade’s heart flutters. Peter wants to be with him for _years_.

“At the risk of being a pervert, I’d like to give you a birthday gift.”

Peter’s mouth is on his in a moment, defined arms twining around Deadpool’s neck, their bodies pressed together wonderfully. Deadpool encircles the small of Peter’s back and hauls the man up. Peter gets the idea and his legs wrap around Deadpool’s waist, deepening the kiss.

Deadpool smiles into the kiss and takes it over, using his experience against his new boyfriend. Peter melts in his embrace, unconsciously rutting against the other. Deadpool groans. They need to get to the bedroom.

He carries Peter to his mess of a bedroom and dumps him on the bed. Peter yanks his costume off, his haste making Deadpool snicker.

“I’m not going anywhere, baby boy.”

“Promise?”

The frailty in Peter’s voice strikes him, a reminder that this is his best friend. His best friend who’s insanely young and has probably never done this before. Peter looks small on his mattress, fragile in a way Spider-Man is not. Peter is light in darkness, and Deadpool knows in that moment that he must do everything in his power to protect that light. The folly of youth is self-doubt, and Peter is a people pleaser. He is a teenager in love, and Deadpool won’t take advantage of that.

“Peter, baby, I’m not going anywhere as long as you’ll have me. Death couldn’t separate us, I wouldn’t let her. But… are you sure you want this? You could have literally almost anyone and they’d be better than me.”

“I don’t want anyone but you.” Peter is aware that some of the impact of his confession is lost because of his age, but he means what he says. He’s never said anything more honest.

A coquettish smirk quirks his mouth and he drags Deadpool closer until he’s looming above him. “Please, Wade,” arms loop around Deadpool’s shoulders and Peter raises his leg to ghost against the man's erection. Deadpool ducks his head into the hollow of Peter’s neck.

“Where’d you learn to do that?” He growls, snagging an earlobe between his teeth. A whine escapes Peter’s throat, his voice breathy as he answers.

“Gay porn.” He takes a gamble with his next admission. “I thought about you, while I…” he trails off, unable to finish. His cheeks are burning, a red the runs down to his pale chest.

“Fffuuuucckk.” Deadpool groans. “Baby boy that’s hot.” He lavishes Peter’s slim throat with his mouth, attacking a spot at the junction of Peter’s collarbone and neck that makes the boy jerk. Deadpool’s fingers find purchase on the nape of Peter’s neck as he pulls away. “If you want me to stop, for any reason, the safe word is… kettle corn.”

“Kettle corn?” Peter cocks a brow.

“If you don’t lose the ‘tude we can stop now.”

Peter pales. “Kettle corn, got it.”

“Good.” And with that Deadpool’s mouth moves to his nipples. Peter gasps loudly, arching into Deadpool’s weight.

“Ah,” he tries to speak, cut off by his own whimpering moans. “I want to… go all the way. I-if you want to, too.”

Deadpool pauses, about to ask if Peter’s sure. He stops. If that’s what Peter wants, he’ll give it to him. How could he deny his baby boy on his birthday?

“What’s the safe word?”

“Kettle corn.” Peter says dutifully. Deadpool nods and reaches for the lube and condoms he keeps in his nightstand.

“Have you ever..?” Had a dick up your ass?

Peter thankfully doesn't make him say it. “I,” he coughs, and Deadpool enjoys the flush on his face. “I bought an… aid, for such endeavors.”

“You bought a dildo?!” Deadpool sounds elated by the idea and Peter nods, not sure he could trust his voice. Deadpool calms down from a fit of giggles and strokes Peter’s face fondly. “Okay, good. I’m still going to go slow, if it’s too much don’t be afraid to say so.”

Warmth engulfs Peter. Wade is so thoughtful, affection evident in his every move. He gives his understanding, stopping Wade before he can start preparing him.

“Can I see your face?”

Deadpool freezes. Peter continues, voice softer and comforting. “You can say no. I’ll wait as long as it takes for you to trust me with your skin.”

Deadpool does nothing for a long moment. Then, silently, he reaches for his mask. He rips it off and Peter sees his grimace. Peter takes Deadpool’s face in his hands, beaming.

“You’re very handsome.” He says sincerely, kissing Deadpool’s lips and muttering compliments between kisses. “Beautiful, sexy, god are you sexy.”

Deadpool doesn’t think he’s beautiful or handsome, but Peter sounds like he means what he’s saying. Even if he doesn’t think he’s either of those things, he appreciates that Peter thinks so.

“Should I..?” He gestures to the rest of his suit unsurely. Peter’s smile is gentle and sweet, and Deadpool feels Peter’s fingers run along his sides with a feather light touch. He trembles. No one has looked at him with such tenderness since he became Deadpool. But Peter isn’t looking at Deadpool. He’s looking at Wade Wilson and what he sees doesn’t disgust him.

“If you want to,” Peter says, and Deadpool knows Peter means to leave the choice to him. He makes the decision to trust the angel lying on the rumpled bed sheets beneath him and shucks off his suit.

Peter’s hands explore his bare chest, fingertips tracing down to the V where his lower abs meet his hips. And his boy _moans_. Just from touching him. There isn’t a trace of ruse on Peter’s face, no knife hidden behind his back. Peter cares about him, even knowing what was under the mask.

Deadpool takes a moment to appreciate the boy staring up at him. Peter’s hands have come to rest clasped around his neck and his hips are pushed up, his cock, nestled in curly brown pubic hair, is shiny with precome. Peter is willowy, more sharp angles than soft curves. If Deadpool didn’t know what that body was capable of he’d be afraid of hurting the boy.

Those wrists hooked around his neck are thin enough that Deadpool could grip them in one hand and pin them above Peter’s head. Thin enough they look like they might break. But he’s very aware that Peter could easily overpower him in a moment if he wanted to.

“Wade?” Peter’s voice is a whisper, poking at him gently. When he doesn’t reply Peter’s hands move to cup his cheeks and he captures a dainty hand in his much larger one, pressing an open mouthed kiss to Peter’s palm.

The boy shivers. His eyelids flutter.

“I just want to look at you for a minute, baby boy.”

Peter relaxes and his hips lower, his knees rubbing together as he tries to get some friction.

Deadpool savors the sight laid out before him. Peter really is a work of art.

The blush on Peter’s cheeks darkens.

“Mmm not.” His head shakes, his hair rustling on the bedspread. Was he talking out loud? Peter snorts, showing off his teeth as he grins.

“You really have no filter.” He teases.

“Merc with a Mouth, remember?”

Peter sees an opportunity and takes it. “Is that the only reason for your name?” His tone dips low and dark and it goes straight to Deadpool’s cock.

Deadpool doesn’t dawdle in swallowing Peter’s dick, grinning against Peter’s pelvis as the boy cries out. He sucks, tongue flattening against hot flesh. He glances up at Peter smugly and the other is too lost to the pleasure to quip. Deadpool thinks of one for him, _killer on the streets, freak in the sheets_ , and he laughs. The action vibrates around Peter’s cock and Deadpool pulls off with a pop, earning a weak glare.

“Don’t want to miss the main event, do you, baby boy?” He winks, reaching for the bottle of lube discarded beside them.

A whine worms out of Peter’s mouth and he shakes his head. Deadpool pours the lube generously and inserts one finger, waiting for a few beats before adding another. He scissors the tight entrance, working three fingers in knuckle deep. He finds the spot that makes Peter cry out beautifully and presses it as he stretches the boy. His baby boy.

“Wade…” Peter gasps out. “Please, I’m ready.”

Deadpool huffs a laugh. “You’ve been watching too much porn.”

Peter doesn't miss a beat. “If that were true I’d be calling you daddy.”

Words alone have never been so close to making Deadpool orgasm.

“Okay, we definitely need to role play later, but for now…” Deadpool slides on a condom, breaching Peter slowly. He winces and Deadpool waits until the pain leaves Peter’s face. He bottoms out and stills. Peter’s heat wraps around him tightly and it’s so _good_. Peter gives a jerky nod and he starts up an easy rhythm. Beneath him Peter is a flushed mess, noises of pleasure leaving his kiss swollen lips unbidden.

Deadpool aims for that spot and pumps in and out of the boy at a pace Peter deems unsatisfactory. Narrow hips angle to meet his thrusts and he relents, driving forward faster. Peter surges to kiss him, his nails cutting into Deadpool’s shoulders. He breaks the kiss after a particularly hard thrust and curls around Deadpool, arms and legs wrapped around the man clamping down. He babbles sweet nothings and praise and pleas and Deadpool almost loses it.

He grabs Peter’s bobbing erection and jerks it in time with his thrusts, because with Peter moaning in his ear he’s not going to last much longer.

In no time the heat around him spasms and white ropes of come paint Peter’s stomach. Deadpool’s hips snap forward a few more times and he comes with a groan. He flops onto his back, Peter snuggling into his side.

Sighing happily, Peter lays his head on Deadpool’s shoulder. “Can I spend the night?”

“Baby boy, if it were up to me you’d never leave.” Deadpool says. “I’ll make you pancakes in the morning and you can stay as long as you want.”

Peter flips so he’s straddling Wade. “We could shower together, in the morning.” He wags his eyebrows mischievously.

“What did I do to deserve you?” Deadpool wonders, running his fingers through mussed brown hair.

“I don’t know. Must have been pretty good though.” Peter says, settling against Deadpool comfortably.

Deadpool hums. He hasn’t done a thing in his life to deserve Peter, but he’s determined to earn what he’s been given.

* * *

In the morning, Deadpool serves Peter a stack of pancakes with pockmarks of color from the sprinkles he added, eighteen slender candles illuminating Peter’s face before he blows them out. His cheeks glow with his grin and Peter kisses Wade, who was well worth the wait.

**Author's Note:**

> Deadpool is hard to write. First Spideypool fic, so I hope it was alright. Thoughts?


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